At night in the village the watchman cried "Elf!"
A very small elf was asleep in the wood -
just at eleven! -
And he thinks that the nightingale
must have called him by name from the valley,
or Silpelit might have sent for him.
So the elf rubs his eyes,
comes out of his snail-shell house,
and is like a drunken man,
his nap was not finished;
and he hobbles down, tip tap,
through the hazel wood into the valley,
slips right up to the wall;
there sits the glow-worm, light on light.
"What are those bright windows?
There must be a wedding inside;
the little people are sitting at the feast,
and fooling around in the ballroom.
So I'll just take a peep in!"
Shame! he hits his head on hard stone!
Well, elf, had enough, have you?
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Eduard Mörike
